In the unknown depths of night, Neva lies awake,
staring at the grey ceiling of the dim room.
She has been racking her mind for a way out of this awful place.
This awful place—she doesn't even know where it is. She had tried to peer through the floor-to-glass window, but the pale moon revealed nothing but woods...
endless woods, swallowed in thick white fog.
The floor-to-ceiling window opens onto a balcony, but there's no escape from it. The room sits high, three floors up at least carved into the side of a mountain.
She turns onto her side, pulling the duvet up to her chin, then recoils at the faint scent of musk and spice clinging to it.
Ishmael's scent. Or whatever his name is.
She prays—prays and prays—that this is only a nightmare, that when she wakes, she'll be safe in the arms of her fiancé.
A sob climbs her throat, but she forces it down, her chest coiling tight at the memory of him, of his scent, of his warmth.
Oh, how she misses Rhett…
Misses him to death.
She still can't believe this is real, that she might never see him again.
What would become of her without him?
Her kidnapper has locked the door, but even if she managed to get out of the room,
it would only be a matter of seconds before he caught her on the cameras,
and he has a gun. He has a gun!
She wonders at the insanity of this man.
Who is he, truly?
What does he want from her?
And the things he told her,
a shared childhood,
her grandfather, her disappearance—
She clutches her temple, the madness of it all pounding into a headache.
It's true, there are ten years of her life she cannot remember. The amnesia from the accident that took her parents.
But everything he's said, it's completely absurd. If it were true, then her aunt and uncle have lied to her all this time.
No. She can't be a fool, can't choose his words over the two people who raised her.
A heavy sigh leaves her as she turns onto her back, her hands resting over her stomach.
She tries, and fails, to think of a way out, clinging instead to the hope that Rhett will come for her… that perhaps an angel might appear and take her to him.
She closes her eyes and shifts onto her side again, the headache pressing in.
She doesn't know what tomorrow holds. She doesn't know at all—
Her heart stutters as a shadow slips in through the balcony.
She can't believe it. She can't—
It's as if the world itself has turned on her, avenging her for the happiness she held that Christmas morning.
Her spine locks as the shadow—tall, broad—moves closer.
A thief… or something far worse approaches the bed on silent steps.
He doesn't know she's awake.
The room is dark enough, her face mostly hidden beneath the duvet.
She waits, unmoving, her mind racing for something, anything, she could use as a weapon.
The lamp. She could reach for it.
Her breath turns ragged as she feels the silhouette draw closer; she doesn't dare open her eyes.
Her heart roars in her ears as she holds her breath,
waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Oh God Oh God—
"Angel—"
The sound blurs as she grabs the lamp and swings—
The mattress lurches beneath her.
A hand snaps up, catching it mid-air.
A scream claws up her throat—a hand slams over her mouth, smothering it.
"It's me—"
A muffled cry tears from her as she fights, twisting against the iron hold of his arms.
"Angel—it's me—"
She goes utterly still at the sound of his voice.
Familiar—his...
"It's me… it's Rhett," he murmurs, his breath warm against the shell of her ear.
Oh... oh—
Without warning, warm tears spill down her cheeks.
A broken sob escapes her as he gathers her into his chest.
Her fists clutch at his jacket, crumpling the damp fabric as her tears soak into him,
her heart too frightened to believe he's real.
That he isn't an illusion spun from her breaking mind.
"It's okay—" His voice trembles as his lips brush the crown of her head.
"It's okay… I'm here."
"Is it—is it really you?" she whispers, swallowing around the knot in her throat.
"Yes," he breathes. "It's really me."
He tightens his hold as a sob slips out of her. "Are you hurt?"
"No—no..." she whispers, shaking her head against his chest.
"We have to go, Angel," he says, pulling back just enough, his face still lost to the dark. "Now."
She nods, barely, uncertain if he catches it. "How did you find me?"
"I had help," he mutters, already pulling her toward the floor-to-glass window.
The moment they step out, she shivers as the frosty wind lashes at her like needles.
He moves ahead, giving a firm tug to the black rope. Its slender in form,
yet looks unyielding in its strength.
The harness is fastened at his waist, the rope running through it as her gaze drifts upward, following its dark line to where it vanishes above the balcony, swallowed by the unseen edge of the roof.
"Climb on my back," he says, already crouching low.
She meets his eyes, her heart twisting even as it loosens at the sight of him beneath the pale wash of moonlight.
"Come on, Angel." His voice is quiet, laced with urgency.
She nods, stepping behind him as she climbs onto his broad back, her arms winding around his neck. Her legs cling to his waist as he straightens, his warm hands anchoring her securely against him.
Her breath catches as he edges down the glass railing, the wind howling louder the instant he braces against the ledge.
She dares a peek below,
her heartbeat spiking as she finds nothing but fog, darkness, and the dizzying sense of endless fall beneath them.
"Hold tight." His steady voice cuts through the wind.
Her arms tighten around his neck without hesitation, her face pressing against the curve of his shoulder,
trusting him, trusting him with her life.
A soft metallic click breaks through the rush of wind.
Then a sharp, sickening lurch rips the air from her lungs as they plunge downward.
The rope hums faintly under his control, the balcony above vanishing into shadow, while the mountain yawns wide beneath their feet.
She squeezes her eyes shut, clinging to his solid warmth as cold bites through her sweater, the wind tearing at her hair.
Then the descent slows, boots scraping against rough stone as he pushes off the cliff face.
He guides them lower, deeper into the fog, where the mansion above dissolves into a distant silhouette.
Almost there.
Almost—
A distant bark, followed by a shout, slices through the night. Her body stiffens.
He stills for half a second, just enough to listen.
Then faster. Controlled, but faster.
The rope slides with renewed speed, the wind roaring in her ears.
She prays. And prays.
Until the ground begins to take shape beneath them, dark earth, the shadowed outline of trees waiting below.
The shouts grow louder, and panic rattles through her bones.
She would never have imagined herself plunged into a situation this insane.
Yet here—
She barely stifles a yelp at the final drop.
His boots hit the ground with a solid thud, knees bending to absorb the impact,
one arm locked securely around her.
Oh Father… dear Father.
They're down.
They are alive.
Through the half-haze of her thoughts, she clambers off him, her socked feet scraping over jagged stones,
damp grass soaking through the thin fabric.
He unclips the harness in one swift motion, seizing her hand and pulling her toward the sheltering shadow of the trees.
"Can you run?" His hand tightens around her wrist.
"Yes." But she can barely see anything.
They break into a run, branches and bushes clawing at the night, but he weaves through them with sure steps.
Yet the barks of hounds, shouting voices, and pounding footsteps only close in.
She sticks close to him, barely registering the pain and wetness beneath her feet at the glimpse of a searchlight.
Her heart thunders, struggling to match his pace.
By the time they reach the clearing of an asphalt road, her breaths are ragged and heavy, her ribs aching,
the lack of exercise catching up to her.
"Are you alright?" he asks as they slow.
She nods, not meeting his gaze.
She flinches at the crack of gunfire echoing through the forest.
"It's alright." He pushes through a branch that showers dew over her, revealing a black Ducati Monster. His motorcycle.
His eyes remain calm and unyielding under the dim glow of the moon as he straps the helmet onto her head.
For a heartbeat,
she allows herself to marvel, even amidst the absurd danger, at how unwavering and precise he is in this situation.
A sharp gasp escapes her as he grabs her waist, hoisting her onto the bike with ease.
A smile tugs at his lips as he brushes a thumb across her cheekbone.
Then pulls down the windshield before swinging onto his seat, helmet already on.
"Hold on to me,'' he says over the rush of threat,
as golden beams of light pierce the fog.
She obeys, arms wrapping snugly around his torso as his warmth soaks into her.
Just as another gunshot cleaves through the night, the engine roars to life, and they surge forward through the frosty darkness.
Warmth ignites inside her even as the wind lashes against them, the nightmare left behind, trapped in the forest.
For she is the ember—of a love that her lover set ablaze within her.
And together,
they burn through the storm.